


Shall We Dance?

by CakeMonster



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Other, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeMonster/pseuds/CakeMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Cullen and Inquisitor Adaar have worked alongside one another for many months but have kept their relationship strictly professional. With the advent of the Ball at the Winter Palace, the Inquisitor must learn the intricacies of the Orlesian Court, lest she become a victim of the Game. What Cullen sees strictly to the Inquisition as his duty quickly becomes something more as he realizes both he and Adaar have more in common than he previously thought.</p><p>Their relationship is intended to be platonic, which may or may not change in later chapters. (You are, however, welcome to read into it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light Duty

"I know the Inquisitor has just come back from the Fade, but this simply cannot wait. We have to find a replacement tutor--and quickly."

"You worry too much, Josie." Leliana leaned up against the desk, careful not to disturb the carefully arranged stacks of papers there. "If the worst thing we had to worry about was her dancing ability, then we should count ourselves fortunate."

"Yes. Yes, I know." Josephine Montilyet sighed, then sunk her head into her hands. "There is so much more to worry about than that. But she is a Qunari and the deck is stacked against her. That she knows how to conduct herself properly in the Orlesian Court, and that she can at least do the basics--"

"I'll find someone to take care of it. In fact, I have the perfect person in mind."

The Nightingale stepped forward and ruffled Josephine's hair lightly. The Ambassador did not appear to appreciate this gesture and tensed her shoulders.

"We will discuss our approach in dealing with the Duke de Chalons later."

Josephine watched Leliana depart, then huffed quietly. She would not have minded teaching Adaar herself, but with her duties she could scarcely find the time to eat. Leliana must have had someone in particular in mind. A chevalier, perhaps? There were a few in the Inquisition now, but it would have to be someone that they trusted completely.

* * *

 

"How are you feeling now, Commander?"

"Better," admitted Cullen, leaning back in his seat. He had had a particularly severe withdrawal to lyrium earlier that day, and his shirt was evidence of that. It had been soaked through with sweat. With the chill wind of the Frostback Mountains, however, Commander Cullen was asking to catch cold.

"I know what you must think. How can I possibly oversee the Inquisition's forces? That's why you're here."  
  
"The Inquisitor is convinced you are quite capable," said Leliana, folding her hands behind her back. "And I agree with her assessment. Though the fact remains you are not 100% well. So you will have to be content with...light duty, as you say."

"Light duty?" Cullen frowned, then stood up. "I'm quite all right. Whatever you need--"

"The Inquisitor does have need of you, in fact," Leliana interrupted him. She smiled knowingly, pacing slowly about the room, observing the decor and a hundred other details that Cullen himself was  probably unaware of. "Your...expertise."

The Commander paused, uncertain. "What part of my expertise? Lyrium?"

Inquisitor Adaar _was_ a mage, after all.

Leliana's smile widened, and for some reason this was more terrifying than her serious expressions. "Expertise of a more physical sort, Commander."

Cullen wondered why was their Spymaster being so secretive, then realized the irony of that statement and shook his head. "Fighting?"

"Something like that. Please come to the War Room in half an hour. And..." Leliana hesitated, eyeing him up and down. "Armor might be...unnecessary."

* * *

 

Leliana and Hissrana Adaar were waiting in the War Room when Cullen arrived. He was mildly surprised, as he was certain he was five minutes ahead of schedule. Then again, the Nightingale knew him all too well.

"I am here, Inquisitor."

He bowed slightly, then noticed that the War Table had been pushed against the far wall. It must have taken several persons to move it. But what purpose would that serve? If they were to train, then they would do it outside, near the Quartermaster's office.

"Hello, Commander. Feeling better?"

Hissrana--whom Cullen often just called "Inquisitor"--stood at least a foot taller than he did.  He did not know her well on a personal level, simply that she was kind to others, a prodigious mage, and a fair chess player. In fact he had balked at her appointment to the office of _Inquisitor_ , though Cassandra and Leliana had persuaded him in the end.

 _This is the woman who sassed Corypheus_ , a small voice reminded him. _She was unafraid of a Tevinter Mage._

"Yes, quite." He managed a slight smile. "There is no need for concern. As I understand it, you have need of me, Inquisitor?"

Hissrana raised a lone eyebrow in confusion. "I do? Well, maybe I do." Her concern turned into amusement as she tilted her head down in Leliana's direction. "You said this was a short briefing on the Winter Palace."

 Cullen looked perplexed. "Ah, I was told of no briefing."

"I see. Leliana," the mage straightened, her illustrious ram's horns making her appear that much more august and authoritative. "Mind explaining what this is about?"

"Of course, Inquisitor."

Leliana was hiding a smile as she gave a small curtsey, which Cullen had never seen her do before, and which confused him further.

"You have expressed your desire to accept Gaspard's invitation to the Ball. I have no doubt you are familiar with Orlais already, or parts of it. The Valo-Kas have accepted jobs from nobles before, haven't they?"

"They have indeed," said Hissrana with a soft chuckle. "We've traveled around some."

"And how is your Orlesian?"

" _Un peu rouillé_ ," she answered. "Your countrymen are kind to speak in _common_ around us, so there is little occasion to use it."

"A shame. We should rectify that sometime, Inquisitor. But that will come later. One last question, if you please?"

"By all means."

"Tell me, when is the last time you have danced?"

Hissrana's eyes widened slightly, then she glanced down in thought. She ran a finger over her bottom lip, rubbing at it. "A good question. With a partner, that would be never."

"Never?" Leliana feigned a look of shock, then clasped her hands behind her back as she strutted between the Inquisitor and Cullen. "And yet you were invited to the Winter Palace. Imagine if you were to attend, you--the Leader of the Inquisition--and Empress Celene herself requested a dance with you. How would you handle that?"

The Inquisitor folded her arms and tilted her head back. "I suppose I couldn't just tell her the truth."

"Turn down the Empress? Or dance _improperly_? Either would cause great scandal."

Cullen was starting to understand _exactly_ why he had been called here, and the thought made him squirm. If Leliana had not been lying about needing his "expertise," and the Inquisitor had been lured there on a promise of a "briefing," then...

"Oh, Maker. You can't be serious."

"Commander?" Hissrana glanced in his direction, ever the picture of calm.

"You...you want me to dance," he said, visibly pained. "With the _Inquisitor_."

Hissrana looked at Cullen skeptically, considered his accusation, then shot a glare at their resident Spymaster. "Leliana?"

The woman merely smirked. "I was hoping to ease you both into it, but the Commander has finally caught on. Very well. It is true, we had hoped to find a proper tutor for the Inquisitor. Unfortunately, the one we had intended was a double agent and had to be dealt with."

"Most unfortunate," sighed Hissrana. She ran a hand  uncomfortably across her horn, then regarded Cullen once more, more fully, as though sizing him up.  The Commander supposed he should feel offended to be referred to as 'unfortunate.' But in all actuality, he would be glad to worm his way out of this.

"It was not _my_ choice, Inquisitor."

"No. Unfortunate that the agent infilitrated us to such an extent. We put him to the sword already?"

"It is done, yes."

The Nightingale did not sound particularly upset about the matter. Hissrana decided she shouldn't be, either. _Perhaps the dancing might be a pleasant diversion_ , she thought. _Even if Commander Cullen isn't particularly amenable to it._

"I understand." The mage inhaled slowly, and the room was silent for a mere interval in time. "Commander Cullen?"

"Yes, Inquisitor?"

"I would be most honored to receive your tutelage." And then she bowed without taking her eyes off him. _Mercenary training_ , Cullen thought instinctively. Tight-lipped, he bowed in response.

"And I should be honored to teach you, but I should have you know, I don't dance."

"Nonsense," quipped Leliana. "We know **all** about your participation in the annual Satinalia dances." 

"The Chantry celebrates Satinalia?"

Cullen had turned beet red. "Well, Inquisitor... The Chantry holds its own celebrations. Very chaste events, unlike those outside the Chantry walls. I imagine it is a way to dissuade Templars from doing something they'd rather regret the next morning and shaming the Order."

The fact tickled Hissrana, and she could not hold back her shit-eating grin. She rarely had an expression of such unrivaled glee. Pity it had to be at his expense.

"I am not ashamed," Cullen insisted, brow crinkling in disapproval. "It is a perfectly valid and productive use of a young Templar's time."

"I will leave you two alone, then."

Leliana was already halfway through the double doors when she spoke. Cullen and Hissrana turned to look at her, and she smiled pleasantly at them both.

"Wait, Spymaster--"

The doors closed before the protest could escape his mouth. Cullen resorted to looking helplessly at the Inquisitor.

He swallowed, his throat drier than when he entered. Was the sweat on his brow from the lyrium withdrawal, or was it strangely hot in there? The torches were all lit, so that was a distinct possibility...

Hissrana Adaar was watching him intently, trying to read his expression.

"Whatever happens here doesn't need to leave this room," she said. Her voice was low and smooth, soothing even. The Inquisitor had a strange matronly quality about her whenever she wasn't being tall and imposing (or throwing lightning at her enemies, which Cullen had seen firsthand at Adamant).

He nodded slowly. He assumed the Inquisitor was making reference to their dancing skills and how blessedly awful they would look if witnessed by others. 

Hissrana had simply assumed the Commander worried about potential rumors.

"I will show you what I can," he said slowly. "Perhaps we should start with positioning."

He tentatively held out his hand, and Hissrana threaded her fingers between his.

He laid a hand at her waist, which was rather higher than he expected. Cullen also distracted himself from her breasts, which were almost eye-level, because looking would be highly inappropriate and unprofessional. 

So he looked upward, which gave him the chance to study Hissrana Adaar's face. The stark intensity of her purple eyes struck him. It was not as though he never noticed them before, because he had always found her natural coloring slightly odd--the shock of white hair, the fuzzy eyebrows, the ash-brown skin.

And just above him were the frighteningly sharp tips of her horns, a reminder of just how far apart they'd both been born.

"I know this much, at least." She laid her opposite hand upon his shoulder. "There. My full extent of knowledge, Commander."

Cullen knew that this was strictly professional, but he was keenly aware just how long it had been since someone had touched him that way. How long had it been since he had held another's hands, or embraced someone? How odd it felt now. Alien, even.

But not unwelcome.

He introduced a few basic step patterns to her, and before long, the candles had started to run. Eventually, Cullen started to feel lightheaded, and he visibly swayed. Hissrana had noticed, and held on to his arm.

"Are you all right, Commander?"

"Tired, perhaps. But all right. That should be enough for tonight, however."

Hissrana appeared doubtful of his claim but released his arm. "I know this is difficult for you, but hang in there."

It was the withdrawals again. Cullen knew he had been lucky to spend several hours without feeling their effects. Perhaps the light activity had even helped? It was impossible to know.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. But I shall not keep you further. It is late, and we both need our rest. By your leave..."

Hissrana watched Cullen bow, then excuse himself. Casually she walked over to the far wall and picked up her staff, which she had abandoned there. And with the simple twirl, she channeled magical energy through the room. A current of coldness swept against all the flames, plunging her into the dark.

She stood there a moment, observing the crescent moon through the windows before departing for Skyhold's Foyer.

"Had a good time, I trust?"

Josephine looked up from a letter she was writing. Hissrana was impressed that she should still be in her office at that hour, though not surprised.

"I can't say I didn't enjoy myself," she said, leaning against her staff. "The Commander is a man of many talents."

This made the Ambassador smile. "Maybe Leliana did know what she was doing after all. Work hard, Inquisitor. The nobles can be harsh critics even at the best of times."

 


	2. Empath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's obligation to the Inquisitor is not only complicated by his normal duties, but also by the fact he cannot seem to find her anywhere. The Commander seeks the assistance of those closest to her.

 "Commander Cullen, please be sure to schedule time for the Inquisitor."

They had been her only words as they passed one another in the foyer. He grit his teeth at the thought of yet another obligation. Cullen could delegate tasks to others all he liked, but someone still had to be there to pull the information together, to review troop movements, to make decisions--among a host of other matters. Once he had gone over the field reports and completed the necessary correspondence, it would be well into the afternoon.

It was midday when he heard a knock upon the office door. Likely a scout, or a messenger. Cullen had been pouring over a map and his eyes had begun to strain beneath the lantern light. He was almost glad of the reprieve, however temporary it would be.

"Come in."

It was Hissrana Adaar who entered then, instinctively bowing her head as she moved through the doorway. She did this even though there was no need to do so here. Cullen was momentarily intrigued by this, as he had never quite noticed it before.

"Inquisitor. I wasn't expecting you." He straightened, his posture becoming rigid--a mark of his Templar background.

"I hear that a lot." A smirk crept up the edge of her lips. "One would think that, since Skyhold is home to the Inquisition, the Inquisitor might also live here."

She used the bottom of the staff to nudge the door closed behind her, then sauntered into the middle of the room, eyes caught on the various knick-knacks. 

"Yes," Cullen began politely, marking the ease she displayed in reaching the top wall shelf, "but you are something of a celebrity these days. No-one really expects the Herald to stop and chat with them."

"That's their problem, then."

"What is?"

She slowly glanced over her shoulder, no longer diverted by the decorative baubles there. Now it was just her, and her laser focus. Cullen could feel her gaze upon him. In the past he might have worried about the possibility of blood magic controlling him, or subtly influencing him. Logic told him that the Inquisitor had no reason to ever wish to control his mind--if indeed she knew blood magic at all. The mages probably would have made a fuss if she did.

But instinct was not wholly convinced. She had grown up an apostate in the Free Marches, unfettered by the restrictions of the Circle. A small voice reminded him that even Leliana's network could only find so much.

"Everyone is seeing the Inquisitor, or the Herald, who isn't a person. She is an idea, like Andraste is an idea. The title is little more than a mantle, like the hat the Divine wears. Or wore," she corrected herself. "Take off the hat, and what you see is unrecognizable."

Cullen frowned slightly, and not simply for hearing that Andraste was an _idea_.

"Commander Cullen, who do you see when I speak to you?"

"I see..." And he hesitated -- _Maker knows_ he hesitated and that she saw him do so. "I see Inquisitor Adaar."

Hissrana quirked an eyebrow, then broke out into a smile. The tension in the room which had been building subsided. " _Adaar_ , now that's new. But from you, I will take it."

"Let me see if I am understanding this," he said, narrowing his eyes in thought. "You dislike being called Inquisitor? And yet we've called you Inquisitor for months now."

"Don't misunderstand. I don't _dislike_ it. The title has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , a sort of power which is quite satisfying to make use of at times. But most _other_ times, it's simply unnecessary."

"If...that is how you feel, I can call you by another name," said the man with a hint of reluctance. "Though I fear the Ambassador would be displeased if I were to address you any other way in any official capacity."

"I can understand that," she said, chuckling.

"All right, then. What should I call you?"

"A fine question. You are welcome to call me Hissrana."

Cullen was not sure which answer he was expecting, but hearing her say her name--hearing _anyone_ speak her name--was peculiar. He had seen it written on paper, but never heard it uttered with the faint trace of an accent, as she did, and which the Inquisitor did not otherwise possess.

"Hissrana... It feels strange to call you that, I'll admit."

"Does it bother you if I call you simply _Cullen_?"

"Of course not. Why would it?"

"Then you should not hesitate to call me _Hissrana_. Or even _Adaar_ , if you prefer that."

 _I was just fine with Inquisitor_ , thought Cullen. Then he cleared his throat. "Very well-- _Hissrana_. I must ask, even though this is your home and you are welcome to stop by any time you like, did you have reason to see me?"

The Inquisitor paused now, blinking, and pensive. "I don't remember."

As for the Commander, he did not react with surprise. When he had become a Templar, he had started at the very bottom of the hierarchy, as one usually did. That meant he had served under a variety of Knight-Captains and Knight-Commanders and was at the mercy of their whims. Some of them quite tyrannical.

And let it be said that Hissrana was no Meredith.

"So your purpose for entering my office today was, in a matter of speaking, simply to tell me which name to call you by?"

"No, of course not. Was carried away for a moment." The woman tapped her staff on the floor, hip cocked, staring down into nothingness before the memory reoccurred to her. "Ah, yes! Our lessons. That was it."

 _Lessons_. _Oh, Maker's breath._ "Right, our lessons," Cullen echoed. "Our Spymaster reminded me this morning. I suppose you had wanted to do them now?"

"We could do them now, or later." She saw the ambivalence on the Commander's face--the indecision, the frustration. "Or we could do them...not at all?"

"Inquisitor, it's..." Cullen snaked a hand through his hair, sighing. "It's not you. But right now is not the most opportune moment. Please understand."

"Not enough hours in the day?"

"...Something like that." He smiled thinly.

"You're busy. I can respect that." The Inquisitor shifted, and pulled her staff up beneath her arm. "I'm more interested in winning the war. Priorities."

"Priorities, indeed. But...listen. Give me a few hours."  Cullen knew full well that it was an ambitious goal, but he would endeavor to meet it. "I will seek you out when I finish, Inquisitor."

"Very well." Hissrana moved towards the door, their business concluded. She threw him one last glance and spoke these parting words:

"Remember: I'm just a Qunari wearing a big hat."

* * *

 

Time got away from him.

He had not envisioned it being a simple matter to find the Inquisitor in Skyhold, but the more he sought her out, the more he realized that he had very little idea what Inquisitor Adaar spent her time doing on a day-to-day basis. Usually she was out in the field, trying to put an end to the civil war, fighting the Red Templars, or any other minions Corypheus had.

Most recently, that had been Grey Wardens.

She seemed to know how to find him, but Cullen had no idea where the Inquisitor might be. After asking the porter and a few soldiers if they had seen her and hearing that they had not, he decided to ask the mages.

It seemed like a solid plan. Mages tended to consort with other mages. Hissrana Adaar was a mage. Someone was bound to have seen her.

When he stepped through into the base room of the Southern Tower, he was surprised at the sudden quiet which greeted him. The foyer was busy with the passing of many men and women, and often an open forum for discussion, but here--silence was golden.

Cullen's eyes lingered on the fresco on the wall until they saw Solas, nose buried in a book. The elf did not seem to notice him, so taken in by the story he was reading. As Cullen approached, he noticed the title to be in Elvhen.

Solas snapped it shut when he caught the man's eye, and the air grew a little colder.

"Commander Cullen. It's not often you come this way. Can I help you?"

"Perhaps. I'm looking for the Inquisitor."

"That is one thing I cannot help you with," the apostate replied. "Unless you seek the Inquisitor for inquiries about the Fade or any other number of topics I am versed in."

Cullen could not very well explain that he was trying to find the Inquisitor for dancing lessons--well, he _could_ , but he also expected that Solas would not particularly care.

"So you haven't seen her today?"

"I did not say that."

"Then you have seen her?" he pressed. Solas wandered over to the table and set the tome down, in no great hurry.

"Adaar visits most mornings, either before or after your war briefings. This morning was no exception."

"So," began Cullen, "you saw her this morning."

"As I've just said, Commander."

"And you've not seen her since then? Surely you have some idea where I could find her."

While annoyance did not register on Solas' face, he did appear disinterested in that line of questioning. "And why would you think I know?"

Cullen remembered Haven, and the events beyond. He could recall how the newly-appointed Herald of Andraste would wander about the camp, making polite conversation with the survivors of the Conclave, until finding her way to Solas, at which point she would spend considerably longer speaking with him.

Who was it she walked with on their journey to find Skyhold? _Solas_.

Who was it who took long walks along the ramparts with the Inquisitor? Again, _Solas_.

"You seemed...close," answered Cullen. A hint of suspicion underlay his words. 

"Close?" The word brought an amused sort of smile to the elf's face. "As much as I count myself among the Inquisitor's friends, ours is more of a mentor-mentee relationship. She comes to me with questions, thoughts, theories. Much of it is about the Mark. I answer what I can. However, if you are asking who she fraternizes with--"

Solas turned on his heel, clasping his arms behind his back. "She often takes tea with Dorian. Adaar has invited me before, but--I confess--it has a most dreadful taste."

 _She fraternizes with Dorian_? It was true, the Tevinter often accompanied the Inquisitor on her missions, but Cullen wondered precisely which definition of _fraternize_ he meant.

"I must reiterate that I cannot help you, but perhaps he can?"

* * *

 

"Commander! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Dorian Pavus stood, fists perched on his hips. Cullen wondered how he survived with one bare shoulder, fashionable though it was in Tevinter (not that he himself would know). He saw a capelet folded properly over the back of his chair.

"I'm looking for the Inquisitor," he replied steadily. "I was told you might know where to find her."

"Not immediately, no. She hasn't been abducted, has she?" asked Dorian, his eyesbrows knitting into a well-groomed caterpillar. "You make it sound like she's missing."

Cullen waved his hands. "No, nothing of the sort. The Inquisitor is fine, I'm sure."

"Had me worried there for a moment. Had she gone missing, I'd half expect someone to have said, 'Blame the Tevinter, he's probably behind it.' Then the next thing you know, I'm sitting in a dark little cell somewhere."

Cullen fixed Dorian with a hard, questioning gaze, and the mage placed a hand against his chest in offense.

"Well, of _course_ I'd be worried about her, too. I'm not a monster."

"No-one is accusing you of anything," said the man, weary. He could feel the eyes of all the other mages boring into the back of his skull. Grand Enchanter Fiona--if she still held that title--was especially intent. There was something unsettling about being the center of attention among a group of recently hostile mages. He knew he had nothing to fear, and yet...

"You know her as well as anyone, or so I'm told."

The Tevinter lit up brightly at that statement. "It's true. We're as thick as thieves, the Inquisitor and I. Though that's only an expression. Neither of us is actually much of a rogue. But that's rather beside the point. You mentioned searching for her... Might I ask what need you have of her?"

"It...pertains to the Winter Palace," said the Fereldan haltingly, his voice trailing. "Strategy and the like."

"Ah, secret plans. Say no more, Commander." Dorian ran a finger over his lip. "Have you checked her room?"

"That was the first place I checked."

"So you say, but did you actually go in?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you actually go _up_ into the bedroom, or did you try to yell at her from the stairs? Because believe me, I have tried and had a _devil_ of a time getting my voice to carry. If she's out on the balcony, she won't hear you."

"I had a maid check on her for me," said the Commander quietly. The matter was actually one of concern - the Inquisitor's chambers were supposed to be under strict scrutiny and access limited. "Do you visit her often?"

"Oh, all the time." Dorian waved his hand dismissively. "If I find something of interest, I just pop right on over. That's when we're at Skyhold of course, and not knee-deep in sludge in some festering swamp somewhere."

"Interesting. Is it just you who visits, or...?"

The Commander began to wonder if this it what it felt like to be in Sister Leliana's field. She had no doubt questioned most of the denizens of Skyhold. She had _very_ likely spoken to Dorian, but did she know about this potential breach in security? Cullen made a mental note to speak to her later.

"It's mostly me, but the Inquisitor has an open-door policy to all her friends. I doubt she'd turn _you_ away, Commander." There was a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Not that you're her type, exactly."

“And let me guess, you are her type, Dorian?”

“I might very well be,” he laughed. “That’s certainly what some of the nobles think. Perhaps I shall ask her sometime.”

"The Inquisitor's room is supposed to be restricted to anyone but her. That includes you, Dorian."

"Yes, well. _Restricted_. Suppose you're a commoner, a--a simple guard, if you will. Whose orders do you follow, exactly, when the Inquisitor herself lays a hand on a striking mage such as myself and says, ' _This is Dorian. He has my complete and total trust, so feel free to let him up here.'_ ”

Cullen made a mental note to speak to Hissrana later as well. Provided he ever found her. 

* * *

  
Outside, the sun was setting over Skyhold. Another day done, and hopefully another day closer to the end of the war. They were beginning to blend into one another. Eventually they would have to depart for the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. He had been present with the Inquisitor at Adamant, which is the type of field he and his men specialized in.

The subtle schemes and politicking of Orlais were another matter. Such was Leliana’s territory--Josephine’s territory. He would be present, of course. He had to be. But there wasn’t much else he could do other than help in the capacity Leliana had suggested.

Cullen glanced to his newly acquired companion. The Tevinter was wearing his capelet and hood, which might have made the man appear mysterious and threatening--if the vestment weren't a bright pastel color and embroidered with tiny roses.

"You don't need to accompany me, Dorian."

"Oh, it's no trouble. Actually, I'm rather curious as to where the dear has gone off to."

They had checked the Gardens, which at that time of day was full to the brim with people. The Chantry held daily services, and occasional nighttime ones. They had checked the Undercroft, where Dagna had asked them to deliver a letter to the Inquisitor, requesting time to study the Mark. Now they were descending the main building's central staircase.

“They should put a bannister here,” Dorian added. “One slip and you fall off into the courtyard some two stories below.”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder. There was some validity to the concern, and he would endeavor to remember on top of all his other considerations.

“We’ll get right on that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Dorian took the Commander on a short walk around the area, scoping out the small practice area they had been set up since Skyhold’s inception. Cassandra was there, as was another recruit, but the Inquisitor was absent. The Seeker made eye contact with him that, upon seeing that he was with Dorian, seemed quite disapproving.

The Tevinter was unmoved, and waved at her in a most friendly fashion.

Cullen thought he could hear her ‘ _ugh_ ’ from there.

“The Inquisitor is very much a morning person,” he continued. “She will practice out here, during the coldest part of the day. ‘Inquisitor, love,’ I asked her once, ‘What will you do during the winter?’ And she simply said, ‘I’ll wear some mittens.’ Bless her.”

“She practices her magic here?”

The Commander began to wonder if he would see a fireworks show in the mornings, provided he simply walk to the courtyard. He had seen Hissrana in battle, at Adamant, but only glimpses. Her fighting side-by-side with the Champion had been quite the spectacle, or so Cullen had heard, and no abomination had managed to touch her.

“Oh, no. More of what _you_ do, Commander. Staff-fighting mostly.”

And then they came upon the Herald’s Rest. The Commander was not sure what to make of it, the idea that the Inquisitor might spend her time here.

 _I’m not the Herald of Andraste_ , she had told him once, point-blank.

“You have the strangest look on your face. Surely you have been here before?”

“I have,” replied Cullen--he stepped aside as some inebriated patrons stumbled out, one of whom he recognized--”But not recently.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows, studying the man’s troubled expression. “Then you know that it is no den of iniquity. Come now, don’t be shy.”

The more devoted Andrastians had been attending services in the Gardens; the rest were here.

It was like stepping into another world. Fires burned high, casting warm hues upon the wooden planks. A dozen conversations occurred simultaneously, sporadically punctuated by eruptions of laughter. Beyond the din, Maryden strummed her lute. The smell of smoke tinged the air, mixed with the ascerbic overtones of alcohol and the dried salt and sweat of humanity.

“Skyhold’s central hub.” The mage pulled down his hood and spoke louder, for otherwise Cullen might not hear him. “Just look for the seven-foot-tall Qunari.”

Dorian had meant the Inquisitor, of course, but the only Qunari they found was the Head of the Chargers. They had reserved an almost permanent table in the back of the room. Cullen paused as he came within earshot of an adjacent table.

“--and she says, I never knew you were such a religious person!”

One soldier bellowed his laughter, the others less so. The joke-teller grinned ear-to-ear, but suddenly saw Cullen watching him nearby. The young recruit’s face paled.

“O-oh. C-Commander. I wasn’t expecting you.”

 _Sounds familiar_ , he thought. Cullen thought the volume within the tavern just became slightly lower, though he chose to ignore this.

“At ease, Loughty. I’m not here to intrude. But do take care to be more...sensitive in your choice of topics.”

“Yes, Ser, Commander Ser.”

The Iron Bull had clearly spotted both the mage and former Templar. He beckoned to them with several sweeps of his hand, made extra visible due to his size. One of the Chargers ducked to avoid being accidentally smacked in the face.

“Dorian! Cullen!” The mercenary was clearly soused, though he appeared to be quite happily so. One might think that the three of them drank together often, so warmly did the Iron Bull react to their being there. “Pull up a chair, have a drink. It’s on us.”

Cullen smiled quite awkwardly. “Oh, that’s quite all right. Say--”

“Nonsense. You’re the man of the hour, leading the Inquisition to victory. How many demons did you cut down?”

“I doubt he was counting,” said Dorian, folding his arms. “Especially after the Inquisitor and I fell through a giant gaping hole in the Fade.”

The Qunari nodded, recounting the event. “There was that part.”

“I wouldn’t mind drinking to a happy reunion, myself,” said the mage slyly.

“You are welcome to drink, of course. But I’m looking for the Inquisitor.”

“Who?”

“Adaar,” said Dorian over the myriad voices in the tavern. “He’s looking for _Adaar_.”

“Oh, _Adaar_.” He sniffed, then quickly surveyed the the Herald’s Rest with his eye. “Shit, I don’t know what to tell you. She was just here. How did she get so sneaky?”

Cremisius Aclassi nearly snorted ale through his nose. “She’s not sneaky. You’re just drunk, Chief.” He turned in his seat, then cleared his throat. “The Inquisitor’s upstairs, Commander.”

“Thank you.”

Dorian waved Cullen on but remained with Bull’s Chargers. Cullen ascended and looked about the second floor, filled with more intimate conversations. He noticed two of Sister Leliana’s agents in the corner, who suddenly went quiet upon seeing him. Though not unexpected, this did make him feel under scrutiny.

Careful to avoid Sera’s attention, Cullen sought out the familiar silhouette of the Inquisition’s seven-foot Qunari leader. _Was Aclassi wrong_? he wondered briefly, right as his eyes trailed to the third-floor stairs.

The roof of the tavern slanted here, and Cullen was given the distinct impression he had found the attic, or its nearest equivalent. There were barrels and casks up here, most of them empty, and old tools. At the very end of the corridor, sitting against the wall with his knees tucked against his chest, was Cole--the hat was unmistakable.

Sitting beside him and also on the floor was Hissrana Adaar. The torchlight cast shadows over her brow, such that they eclipsed her eyes, but reflected in the bronze sheaths she wore over her horns. Cullen paused there. He could hear a familiar tremble in the young man’s voice--

“--just want to make it better, but it doesn’t help. Surrounded by everyone, but so lonely, he cannot bear it.”

“But it _does_ help,” came her stronger voice. “I assure you it does, trust me. The only thing Varric needs right now is time. Time to process--”

“ _Time heals all_ , that’s what they say,” said Cole, almost melancholy. It sounded painful merely to hear him speak. “But it’s not true. That’s what they told you, but you don’t believe it. You will never be the same--”

The wood creaked, alerting them to another’s presence. The Empath quieted, withdrawing into himself, content to simply listen and feel as the Inquisitor straightened.

“Cullen.”

“ _Hissrana_ ,” he replied in greeting, unnatural though the name felt. “I apologize for the hour. But I came to find you, as I said.”

“Surprised you came all this way.” _Surprised he remembered_.

Cole opened his mouth to repeat the sentiment, but she distracted the youth, squeezing his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered slightly at the sensation, the exchange of energy between them--Cullen kept his distance, unsure of what was transpiring.

“I always keep my promises.”

She nodded, slowly. “Sit down with us.”

Cullen kneeled, undecided as to whether or not to commit to the actual sitting. The floor was hard on the kneecaps, but he would endure.

“Is he--is Cole feeling all right?” Hissrana raised a hand to silence him, and she seemed to be distracted. Cullen then noticed the young man was _shaking_ , his lips moving wordlessly. By degrees, he seemed to calm. The Commander sat quietly, perplexed but trusting.

“Now breathe,” she seemed to say.

Cole purged the air from his lungs in a single, heaving breath. His eyes popped wide open, as though he had just received a divine vision from Andraste herself. He seemed not to know where he was--

“Foxgloves on the mountainside,” he said. “The bees. One is weighing down an entire flowerhead.”

“...Right,” said the Commander. “Do you mind filling me in, Inquisitor?”

“A thousand voices now, crying out all over the hillside--”

Hissrana’s optimism seemed to deflate as Cole began to quiver once more. She entwined her long, ashen fingers around the young man’s, then moved to stand. “Let’s move somewhere quieter first,” she said.

* * *

  
They must have appeared quite a sight, marching through the main hall. The Inquisitor continued to hold Cole’s hand all the way to the War Room. The youth seemed to be having a veritable breakdown, or was teetering on the verge of one. Cullen also found this of interest, given that he was head of personal security. The Inquisitor should be the one protected by her men, not the other way around. If Cole was not of sound mind, he should not be anywhere near the Inquisitor.

Strange that no-one seemed to notice, he thought. Cole occasionally had that effect on people.

Cullen decided to return to the topic later, as they stood palm-to-palm. Cole sat innocently in the corner of the War Room, rapt and engrossed in their movements. Most of the time, he could ignore the young man’s presence--the sensation of being observed--but what he had witnessed in the Tavern could not be swept away and discarded.

“What is wrong with Cole?”

It was not the most polite way of asking the question, but it was blunt.

“The same thing that is wrong with Varric,” she returned. Hissrana misstepped, barely missing the Commander’s foot, and returned back to the start of the series. “You are aware that he can pick up on thoughts, feelings?”

“So I’ve heard. And so I’ve seen tonight. ...once more from the top? Let’s move away from the wall, here.”

They shifted to the center of the room, taking their positions. She rested a hand upon his shoulder, Cullen assuming the lead once more.

“Varric is deep in grief,” she continued. “Consumed by it. Cole has been going to him for support and guidance--and now he finds that Varric has nothing left for him, not even enough for himself.”

Cullen merely frowned at the thought. “Because of Hawke.”

“Right. Because of Hawke.”

He allowed Hissrana to begin the series again and allowed her to set the pace. She was learning quicker than he anticipated, though--Cullen feared--not quite quickly enough. The Orlesians had been brought up in courtly dances since childhood, and the Inquisitor had but weeks at most.

As it was with Corypheus, so it was in Orlais: the odds were against them.

“And Cole can feel the grief as intensely as Varric can,” she murmured. “Cole is suffering the pain of loss vicariously through him, and helpless to do anything about it.”

“And _twirl_ ,” spoke Cullen. He lifted her arm, but his reach was not enough that it allowed Hissrana to completely clear her horns through. He bit back a snort of laughter.

“You are doing that one on purpose.”

“That’s not true. Anyway--I’m sorry, I _am_ listening to you. Please, do go on.”

“I’ve been working with him, on meditation. When that’s not enough--I found out through sheer chance--I could draw him into my mind, and keep him there. Keep him stable.”

He stopped, though only by chance; Hissrana had lost count of the number of spins they had done and continued veering. He suppressed his urge to frown. “Change direction now.”

“Solas informed me, and by me I mean _us_ , your advisors, that he was a spirit. You are inviting Cole into yourself?”

“Not exactly,” she replied, stumbling slightly. The Inquisitor avoided his eyes, mostly to focus on her feet. “It’s not limited to mages. He will pick up on strong memories, feelings. So by evoking powerful images which move you, Cole will be drawn into them.”

“So, visualization techniques?”

“Precisely those. Happy memories, happy Cole. At least for a short time.”

Cullen glanced briefly in Cole’s direction. He seemed to intent to remain for the duration of their lesson, but his limbs were relaxed. There was no-one there but the three of them, with Josephine just down the corridor. He would be limited to what the dancers themselves were feeling most likely.

A war was hardly a place for such a creature. If what Hissrana said was true, then Cole was able to feel the hopelessness and grief of every soldier in the encampment.

"I heard something about Foxgloves."

“Ah, yes. The Vimmark Mountains,” she breathed. Cullen suddenly realized that he, too, was beginning to breathe harder and perspire. Her cheeks were alight with color now, a faint blush. "Not as grand as the Frostbacks, but much greener."

"Ah, yes. I forget that you're a Marcher."

She careened into him then, having forgotten their place in the waltz. It was a harmless enough bump, but surprising and unexpected. Cullen was reminded just how heavy she actually was and how much force she carried.

"Where in the world did that come from?"

"I'm a Marcher," she said with a hint of amusement, "and not a dancer."

"I think it's that we’re talking more than we’re concentrating now.”

She laughed then. Her laughter made the silence retreat, and it was genuine, soulful. He could feel it travel through her, extending out into him. Cullen did not need to be Cole to be affected by it.

When the night ended and Cullen passed through Ambassador Montilyet's office, she was struck by the breadth of his smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A better chapter title might be, 'Cullen takes a tour of his own fortress, assisted by Dorian'. This is my first time writing anything with Mr. Rutherford and my characterization will likely be somewhat off. It's tempting to think that he is a bit too consumed by his work and duties to the extent that he simply has not mingled as he should. As Varric once said, 'If anyone needs a hobby, it's you, Curly.'"
> 
> I know everyone's Adaar is a wee bit different, too.


End file.
